


'Not Enough to Tempt Me'

by ZephyrOfAllTrades



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale just wanted to squeeze into a dress, Crowley approves, Female Aziraphale (Good Omens), Female-Presenting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Historical Inaccuracy, Male-Presenting Crowley (Good Omens), Not Beta Read, Pining, Pride and Prejudice References, just did a little Wikipedia search, miscommunications, of course
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:22:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23142391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZephyrOfAllTrades/pseuds/ZephyrOfAllTrades
Summary: Aziraphale found a new friend. A budding writer who unfortunately dabbles in matchmaking. It was all fun and games until she reunited with a familiar red-headed demon.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 122





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My mind just as I was dozing off: A and C must have inspired Pride and Prejudice.  
> Me: ......... *opens phone to type*
> 
> This is a product of sleep and coffee deprivation.

_**1796** _

It is acceptable judgment to believe that Lucifer’s ilk favor to lurk in the rotten and the murky corners of the Earth breathing in humans’ misery. But this should not be understood as infallible truth. One such spawn of darkness was currently enjoying a glass of sweet red wine, gaze roaming over the spacious hall of Chawton House. He had only waited for his commendation to be finalized before taking the next boat back to England where there was a decided lack of rolling heads.

Crowley was enjoying himself with the low-level sins the ball provided, inciting Lust and Greed. He merely donned his best suit and let slip of his 8,000-pound annual income and let the water stir itself. What he did not anticipate was the constant introductions to the many families present at that assembly. He took to his role of perfect gentleman energetically in the beginning but with each new bachelorette, his interest and manners were very soundly contemplating returning to France. He turned into a frigid prick of a man in less than an hour of his stay but no one got the hint. He and his host, the ever-enduring Mr. Edward Knight, had started on the alcohol even before the gathering had progressed into a proper ball. He was introduced to the man with great aplomb by his initial companion, a knighted man – head larger than his carriage – whose name he had forcefully forgotten in favor of conserving his energy to NOT set the place on fire.

He scowled into his drink.

“Come Crowley, I’m sure you can muster a genuine smile at least once tonight,” Edward admonished halfheartedly. “If you tire of your host’s uninteresting stories, I believe certain _enthusiastic_ ladies would gladly take you from me,” this was said with a smirk. One does not face overbearing mothers and their _perfect_ darlings without becoming fast friends. Crowley could only groan at his laughter.

“Although I implore you to save some of your sanity to properly greet my sisters when they come. That would be suitable payment for the night you’d brought down upon us,” he sighed into his own glass, wishing the drink stronger.

“Is it my fault humans have far too much bloodlust for money?” Edward tsked at him but did not disagree.

“Hush, there’s one of my sisters now,” he filled his glass once more before turning away. “Ah! Jane, there you are.”

The demon took one last fortifying drink before lifting his eyes and all his senses promptly accosted with the most beatific presence even Heaven could not contain. Her name slipped from his lips before he had a chance to seal them.

“Aziraphale…”

* * *

The hall was sparkling, the nibbles delightful, and the punch exhilarating. And in the midst of it all, an angel. Granted she had never bothered much for parties but one’s wants are second only to their friend’s needs.

Aziraphale gathered her skirts to take a stroll about the crowded room searching for the lady she had braved the social event to see. Ms. Austen, her dear Jane should already be about. They had both been smitten with each other’s wit as soon as they got talking, and they had forged a steady friendship in the last few months after they met. And it was by no means a delightful happenstance that the girl wished to become a novelist. Aziraphale was adamant her works would be immortalized, and gave her full support on the matter.

She felt someone touch her elbow and turned to find Jane grinning at her. “I have been calling you for quite some time Alyza, how far has your imagination gotten you this time?” she laughed.

“Oh, I do apologize my dear,” Aziraphale started, blushing profusely (and becomingly, her friend noted). “I forgot myself entirely.”

“I accept your apology, but I’m afraid you must also apologize to the young men whose attentions your dazed self has captured.”

“Ah, I am lucky then for there are no such men hereabouts,” she replied archly, but the fondness for her friend had always softened the bite from her tone. Jane had been dabbling with matchmaking and had found Aziraphale a suitable candidate and pointed her to one or two possible suitors in every congregation they happened to fall into. She had been flustered the first few times but when she had found it was more a teasing gesture, she began teasing back and the amicability between them cemented.

“Come, I bear no falsehood here. You may capture a husband sooner than you believe it so. Oh, if only you’d be a touch less prejudiced.”

“I must admit that I do have standards,” the angel could not say that the fleeting life of a human was a great deterrent when forging romantic relationships. “But it is not only I who is at fault. I’m basically estranged from most of my family, my dear. You can’t think that I can or shall use such connections to procure a husband. So please do not bother. I am not pretty enough or wealthy enough to be wooed.” Aziraphale knows that she was a little on the chubby side, so she won’t turn eyes as much. To add to the non-allurement, she balanced her financial capacity to be low enough to not gain attention, but big enough to be able to eat out wherever she wanted to and to attend the theaters without suspicion.

“My darling Alyza, how could you degrade yourself so? You are pretty in your own amiable way and a wonderful conversationalist. But you are right, finances are a hurdle. We are in the same boat I’m afraid. For none of the gentlemen shall call on us, unless our dowry’s a fair few thousand pounds!” She giggled at the ludicrousness of such practices.

“Although, I do believe the men have it worse than the women,” Jane continued. “ _They_ are expected to marry the moment they gain fortune, and the antics of both mothers and daughters to ensnare them has already gone beyond proprietary conditions,” she gestured toward a veritable wall of women lining up to be introduced to one of the eligible bachelors the party had called on. Both women decided to stay clear of the area.

“I do believe you are right,” Aziraphale sighed. She had seen quiet a number of said schemes the more she stayed the in humans’ company. “Why in heavens name must a woman seek a man’s approval to be happily accepted by society.”

Jane laughed at her friend’s endearing pout. “Yes. I declare only a few heads are of the same opinion.”

“Ah! Jane, there you are,” a jovial voice called out.

Both ladies turned. “Edward!” Jane eagerly took her brother’s hands. “Let me introduce my friend...”

The angel, who had stepped forward to greet the man, was thoroughly distracted and did not see the figure behind their host. It was one she would know well had she seen him immediately. Clad in all black with trousers, waistcoat and jacket fitted to perfection on his lanky frame. His hair a bright red, styled in flaming glory. Dark glasses obscuring his eyes. The mouth, usually set in a grim line or a knowing smirk but was then hanging slightly open in silent shock, uttered one word.

“Aziraphale…”

The lady, recognizing the voice, quickly remedied her expression into one of confusion instead of unadulterated delight.

“Oh, my. Yes, I believe I do rather resemble my brother,” she gave him a pointed look. “Are you acquainted with him Mr…” she raised a dainty eyebrow in question, lips fighting to hide her grin.

* * *

Crowley was speechless. The angel rarely presented as female, and none of her previous presentations had taken so young a form as she was at that moment. She had her white blonde hair artfully braided with errant curls framing her round face. Lashes grew longer to fan her pink cheeks. Lips looking softer than he had last seen. Three years, only three years after the Paris debacle and just when he thought the angel would lay low for a while, here she comes all wrapped in more frills and blue satins. His eyes slipped past her face to her creamy neck and exposed clavicles. He gulped, for beneath that was a bust he was certain would haunt his dreams. Seeing where most of her stomach's padding, when she was in male form, seemed to have shifted upwards, _his_ blood was steadily migrating to the other direction.

“Crowley,” Edward elbowed him, making him start. Aziraphale couldn't help but giggle. This brought Crowley back, and he scrabbled to regain his usual confident and nonchalant persona. Edward coughed, bemused at his acquaintance’s demeanor.

Crowley’s mouth closed with an audible click. He wasn't aware he was gaping at her. She cocked her head to the side, exposing her white neck a little more, as if in invitation to take a bite. Crowley gulped again. His mouth letting out a barely audible “Ngk.” She feigned a look, as innocent as she could, but her eyes were sparkling with mirth at her friend's reaction. She did love surprising him once in a while.

“Yes,” he cleared his throat finally registering belatedly that she had asked for his name. “You may call me Crowley if you so wish.” He saw Edward hide a suffering sigh.

“This is my sister, Jane,” he said instead. “And her friend…”

“Miss Alyza Fell,” Jane chirped helpfully, not completely oblivious from Crowley’s reaction to her friend. Aziraphale curtsied and looked towards Edward then to Crowley with a small smile. “It is an honor to meet you Mr. Knight and you, Mr. Crowley,” her grin now fully on display.

He coughed, feeling warmer under his cravat. _The bastard._ _Two could play at that game_ , he thought as he returned to some semblance of his former self. “Forgive me. I am a friend of your brother's. I lent a hand when he found himself in a spot of bother when we met in Paris years ago,” he winked, forgetting it would not have been visible behind his dark glasses but doing it anyway. “But it seems he failed to mention you in his correspondence.”

“Forgive him please,” she blushed remembering their last encounter. “He'll forget his own head if it wasn't attached to his neck.” She laughed – a melodious aria he wanted breathed into his very ears.

“Well, now we have been properly introduced without him, perhaps I may write letters to you directly,” Aziraphale frowned over his blatant flirting. “I'm sure he won't mind,” Crowley said more seriously, he knew that look. He had overstepped a mark, gone a little too fast for his angel's liking. Again.

She was saved from replying by a hand dragging her back. “Oh, Alyza, look, they've brought out the pianoforte. You once mentioned you had rather sing than dance, and as I understand that I shall have no such luck watching you twirl in merriment like the rest of us, I must insist you sing at least one song,” Jane, pleaded with a touch of dramatic air.

Aziraphale pinked, giving Crowley a quick glance then back at her friend. “Must I, my dear?”

“Yes!” she laughed. “For me, please? To sooth an ageing spinster's heart,” there was definitely something in her manner than made Aziraphale suspicious but could not easily fathom. She raised an eyebrow at her friend. She could sense the mischief veiled in the writer's wails. She would have declined had not a few other acquaintances heard their exchange and urged her further.

It was not the first time she sang, but she only did in small gatherings and Jane made it her duty to show off her talent as many times as she could get away with. Defeated, Aziraphale excused herself from the two men to take the stage. Thankfully she was only entreated for two songs before the younger ones called for a reel, itching to get their partners unto the dance floor.

“Now, Jane dear, if I may so ask, what in heaven's name was that about?” Aziraphale admonished her friend once they found each other again.

“Oh Alyza, we both know that it is always a treat to hear you sing, but do you know how beautiful your hair looks under the lamps by the pianoforte? And the way your skin glows?”

“Well, I don't really pay attention to my looks while I sing…”

“Yes… but everyone else does.” Aziraphale could still feel something hidden in her voice. She blinked up at her.

“I cannot understand how you could call me on my bluffs.,” she shook her head. “But I did that to save Mr. Crowley.”

Aziraphale blinked. “Save him?”

“I would not have you admonish your first suitor for unrestrained flirtations, Alyza.”

“Suitor?!” he gasped. “Really, my dear I have no qualms with your teasing, but I did specifically ask, need I remind you, more than once, for you to not interfere with MY love life!”

“Even with the tall, dark stranger with 8,000 a year?”

Aziraphale blushed and Jane grinned. She frowned at her. “No! Absolutely not! You very well know that I am not in want of a husband, nor in need of his fortune, no matter how large.”

“But I saw how he looked at you. Even with those ridiculous glasses. And him knowing your brother, it is an auspicious meeting. You might not have another one after this,” the last was muttered under her breath, for even if it was mostly for fun, Jane did rather wish for her friend to find happiness in love, she did love a good romance. “Oh, but would you not like the experience of spurning one, then?” she said louder instead. “Especially such a gentleman rogue that is our Mr. Crowley. I was told it was better to be jilted in love than never love at all. The man must be in need of an experience where he is not the center of attention.” This finally earned her a laugh from the angel.

“He might indeed, but please believe I am not as heartless a creature to make a man fall in love with me then leave.”

“If you fall in love as well, then it shall not be a callous gesture.”

“So, you shall have me play with Monsieur Gentleman Rogue instead, then perhaps let me be one of his many conquests?”

“I am proud to acknowledge your intelligence over such matters of the heart and know full well that you will not let anyone play with it. Surely, he’s no more a demon than any of the other of the men around.”

Aziraphale didn’t reply. Crowley was a demon and that was the problem. She had seen Crowley tempt humans too many times. Demons cannot love. She’s been told that too many times.

* * *

“Pardon me.”

“Speak of the devil,” Jane whispered and closed her eyes wondering if their conversation had been heard and therefore did not see both angel and demon wince at her words.

“May I speak with Miss Fell? I have a message for her brother, I’m afraid I’ve lost track of his address with his globetrotting for rare books.” He gave a calculated smile. I would not do to look outwardly interested. He found Aziraphale’s friend a tad too observant.

“Of course, I must seek out Cassandra. I’ll call on you later Alyza,” snickering as she went.

“I hear the gardens here are spectacular,” he drawled.

“Yes,” Aziraphale followed her friend’s retreating back. “Through here,” she led him to the balcony and they made their way to the grounds. “So… what would you like to convey to my brother?” she twined her hands behind her back, unwittingly stretching the fabrics of her dress over her (fairly sinful, in Crowley’s opinion) chest. Crowley looked away before she turned to him with a smile bursting with glee at their inside joke.

“Nothing but to rebuke him from warning me of his actually having a sister that would gladly play with a man’s heart on a whim,” he smirked. She choked on air.

“That was just a joke, my dear. Please understand, Jane keeps trying to pair me off with the nearest bachelor. Yes, perhaps that was the wrong way to go. But please don’t let her teasing get to you. I – “

“Aziraphale, relax. I’m not mad.”

“You’re not?”

“Nah. You’re too good to break a man’s heart for the sake of amusement,” _although her obliviousness does the trick,_ Crowley added to himself.

“Oh, oh thank you.” She sighed in relief. “So, on a mission, are we?”

“Not really. That commendation would earn me a few years of lax surveillance, so I decided to come back. I’m just hopping about now, thought of fomenting disgust over the Prince. Easiest thing, really, what with the bloke raving mad already. And you?”

“I don't have much to do, actually. Gabriel said I'm to do my usual blessings. I'll have the bigger assignments in the next few decades I believe.”

“But why…?” he gestured towards her form, again taking mental note of how well her dress hugged her body. “And I thought the male you had finally bought a bookshop.”

“Oh, I did. Well, trying to. The estate agent is still smoothing things over with the property’s incumbent heir. They say I'll have a year or two more to wait.

“Why don't you miracle it all faster?”

“I would, but I'd rather not let heaven find out. They still think I'm doing way too many frivolous miracles so I decided to keep things to a minimum. I'm not in a hurry though. I'm having great fun with Jane. She's a writer! Would you believe it!” She wiggled and Crowley had to suppress the urge to grab her cheeks and fuse her mouth with his.

“As to the form,” she continued ignorant to his torture. “I had a blessing to do in a nunnery so I had to change. I had to stay there for a month and a man's form would be scandalous in the circumstances. I sat down next to Jane in a coach bound back to London and she and I became firm friends. And I do love the dresses, aren't they pretty?” She gave a little twirl that had Crowley pinching himself to stay immobile. Those will leave bruises but he needed to keep his self-control.

“Oh, and though I do like being in a male form in general I can't have people think I'm wooing Jane, and honestly the way these people talk about single men. As if they were a butcher's cut, to be picked and prodded. The only worthwhile traits are fortune and looks, with every eligible female trying to claim a husband even before a marriage proposal had been uttered.”

“Ah, then you Ms. Fell must be very busy luring many marriageable men in these gatherings.”

“Don't be absurd Crowley. I could never marry a human.”

_Then marry me!_ Crowley cried in his head but kept his mouth firmly shut. “I'm pretty sure you'd had offers,” he said instead.

“Oh, but I only get a meager allowance from my brother,” she explained with shining eyes. “I'm too poor for these men.” She laid a hand on her heart but wrinkled her nose in amusement.

He couldn't help but laugh along. They soon found themselves back at the balcony.

“There you are Crowley, and Miss Fell. Jane's been looking for you,” Edward called.

“Oh dear, where is she? Ah, never mind. I'm sure I shall find her, please excuse me Mr. Knight, Mr. Crowley,” the demon watched as she tottered off to stand by the refreshments table and take a few samples from the table. _Got peckish,_ he hid a snort. He could almost hear the little moans she makes whenever delicious foodstuff touch her tongue.

“You've made quite an acquaintance Crowley,” he regretfully tore his eyes away to follow his host back into the hall. “And I thought you weren't in the mood to socialize,” the man’s eyes were dancing. “I'd say I would finally be able to see you dance by the end of the night.” He laughed joyously.

“Dancing? I detest dancing. There’s not a woman in this room I’d dance with.”

Edward rolled his eyes at him, “Surely Miss Fell is the most likely candidate to tempt you to it.”

Crowley’s imagination whirred immediately conjuring up the image of the angel’s dress fluttering as she twirled, her cheeks flushed with the exercise and his fingers trailing a hand, an arm, a waist. _STOP_ , his insensitive consciousness cried. _That won't do_ , it said. His train of thought launched from there. He’s a demon. He can’t look like besotted fool. Even though he was. Oh, he definitely was. But if his angel catches on, she would indubitably reject him. That brought back the ice in his voice.

“She's tolerable but she's not handsome enough to tempt me.”

He heard a gasp just behind him. Aziraphale, led by Edward’s sister, blushing a maddening shade of pink. The Austen girl’s eyes torched him, daring him to say more.

“Uhhhh.” _SHIT_.

* * *

Aziraphale stationed herself near the refreshments table to wait for Jane. She was sampling the tarts when the writer took hold of her elbow. “Aha! I knew I shall find you here. I do apologize for my earlier behavior. To be sure, I am simply intrigued. Quite a character wouldn't you say, Alyza? Shall we come over to study him some more? There's Edward come to lord over him. We might as well join in.” And with a tug, she led Aziraphale towards the men. She knew the writer would not drop the subject of her possible 'suitor' and she could only sigh, but she did love watching her friend become greatly animated. They were only a few feet away when they heard George started talking of dancing and possible partners for Crowley.

“But surely Miss Fell is the most likely candidate to tempt you to dance.” _Ah_ , thought Aziraphale. _It appears both siblings have a propensity to meddle with other people's lives_. Rather unlucky that she's the victim that time around.

But what brought her up short was Crowley's reply. "She's tolerable but she's not handsome enough to tempt me." Jane looked murderous and Edward embarrassed. She could only blush. Well. She already knew she wasn't that handsome but it still stung. She never bothered to look pretty. She only made the effort with her dresses. They had such an air, but perhaps Gabriel was right that she ought to reign in her food consumption. She shook herself when Jane dragged her off back to the refreshments table.

“Well Alyza, I am now thankful that you are not attracted to him,” she started without preamble. “Though I despair you had to hear _that_. I had gone about the room to inquire of the gentleman. Everyone else agrees he is a very ill-mannered man, but his riches are greatly coveted despite all that. I would have thought he could redeem himself, but now I believe I shall gladly join the ones harboring such abhorrence of him.”

“Jane, please, he is not worth your energy. You would never be able to enjoy the ball otherwise. Take this, it’s the most delectable dish from the table so far.” Jane took the tart and glanced at her friend. Aziraphale kept a general air of calm and she projected it at her friend to sooth her worry lines. She had already forgiven Crowley. She reminded herself that he was a demon – albeit her friend – and he was not obligated to say that she was attractive. And that was an acceptable excuse.

“All those ladies,” Jane hummed, giving in to nibble at the pastry. “It looks as if should even one of them take his arm, he'll rip them off to rid of them,” Aziraphale giggled effectively bringing Jane back to a good mood. They looked around the room watching the ladies fluttering about Crowley. The man was looking decidedly unresponsive to his surroundings with wine in one hand and brooding over a vase of flowers. “If I may not hate, then I shall pity the man. He shall never find a wife that would respect him.”

“Come, my dear. Show a little compassion. You've yet to talk to him for more than a handful of minutes. And that was just one sentence.”

“Yes, but it was directed to make fun of you.”

“Nonsense, he cannot laugh at me, but I can laugh at myself for even reacting. His opinion need not matter.”

“My sweet friend, how beatific of you to forgive him! He does not deserve it! But yes, you are right. Let us not let the man curdle our lovely evening.” Both ladies resolved to forget the ordeal and enjoyed the rest of the ball.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley wanted to apologize, but things went a little pear-shaped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, there were only supposed to be two chapters. But the idiots were being very oblivious. I'm frowning at them as I type this. Don't worry, though. There will be a happy ending.
> 
> EDIT: A few tweaks thanks to Danara. :)

Unlike the rest of Heaven’s Host, Aziraphale loved basking in the wonders of humanity. In this case, it was the millinery in a London shop.

“Those ribbons look beautiful Jane. But I really don’t think I need them.”

“They would go splendidly with your new dress.”

“Yes, but…”

Jane took her hands in hers. “We have received the invitation from Mr. Crowley himself. And as he is a man of fashion, I dare say we ought not to disappoint.”

“My usual dresses should suit him just fine,” Aziraphale said archly. The demon had seen her in worse conditions and she him. Besides she was sure it was more for the sake of showing off his new townhouse.

“Oh, I believe they would,” Aziraphale could see Jane fidget.

“My dear Jane, you look anxious. Whatever is the matter?”

She gave her a gentle smile. “I can never hide something from you, but please assure me you would not be very cross with me,” she pleaded. _Another scheme_ , Aziraphale thought. But this wasn’t of mischief, she surmised. The girl looked dreadfully anxious.

She sighed. “I gather it requires, well, me?”

“It does, regrettably. But do not worry yourself! You shall have no need for playact. Simply come with me to the ball,” she clasped her hands in front of her in a very girlish manner, eyes widening. It was very convincing. She should know, she practically invented the gesture. She used it on Crowley when he wanted to skitter out of very undesirable assignments.

“What does your plan require of me then? Although, as I understand it, I had already promised to accompany you.”

“Do you, ehem, remember the last time we had gotten acquainted with Mr. Crowley?” the girl said slowly, gauging the angel’s reaction.

“I do believe it was the day we were introduced.”

“And his manners towards… you?”

“Hmmm. Can’t say I would forget easily, my dear girl. His perception of me was rather pointed,” she said with a smile, calming Jane and saving her gloves from ruin. Aziraphale was proud that she was an angel filled with virtues of the divine. She had let her well of forgiveness flow towards her immortal compatriot and was proud to say she exercised great patience with him – by ignoring his many letters and visits (but not the chocolates, they would have sadly gone to waste otherwise). “And our… acquaintances… would remind me every little chance they get.” She was teased mercilessly. She would not have minded if it was for fun, but humans were very vindictive creatures indeed. They dearly love seeing someone else suffer. And suffer she did, unfortunately. Although not as much as it would have if she had to live through the experience alone. Jane was livid and her wit flowed long over other people’s need to occupy themselves with distasteful habits, in front of said people. She was ever so thankful to her friend.

Encouraged by her friend’s cool manner, Jane took a deep breath before laying out her plan. “I wish to turn you into the belle of his ball.”

“Petty revenge, my dear, for my sake?”

“Of course,” the girl held her head high. “Marking you to be merely tolerable, when he has yet to see every facet of you. I shall endeavour to make him renounce those claims in the middle of the most fashionable gathering of the year, which so happens to be his own. So please say yes?”

Aziraphale could not deny wanting to at least surprise the demon, and if it should shock him into saying she was handsome, well, wouldn’t that be a miracle. “Oh, my darling girl, thank you for being a most excellent partner in crime,” she grinned. “I believe I may have to change my intended attire for the event. But as it so happens, my brother had just sent me a dress that would suit the occasion.”

“Then shall we away to your lodgings, that you may show me this dress of yours?”

“Of course! But let us run down the street first. I was informed of a lovely little bakery down the way that makes scrumptious eclairs perfect for afternoon tea.”

* * *

Crowley could play a good host. He preferred the grandeur of being rich. He missed the comforts since he was stationed in Paris. Back there he had to look the dashing young commoner, but never a lord. He’d have had his head cut off. But now in the posh circles of England, he bought (miracled the money, because he was still a demon) his own townhouse with servants as far as the eye could see. Although he had no real use for them, except to incite his extravagant lifestyle. Until he decided on accommodating a ball.

It was nasty business, all the decision making. But he had to make it perfect because some twat (the most excruciatingly beguiling creature ever to set foot in Heaven, Earth, and hopefully never Hell) refused to give him the time of day – all for a simple statement. Of course, he did not resort to begging. (Kneeling in front of her door asking to let him in when she couldn’t see was _not_ begging). So, he figured he had to reel her in somehow.

Food. That was his first inclination. Different varieties for her to taste. The chocolates had been received warmly. Yet he was shut off immediately. The angel would always welcome nibbles. Like she used to welcome him. And now he was getting jealous of _food_. He groaned.

He glared at the spread he had prepared. He wanted to show off the variety but it would be too excessive, even for a glutton like his angel. He had to tone it down a bit. But he didn’t really know how to _tone down_. And so, the ball. He could be as excessive as he wanted to and more. And he could make sure the angel stays long enough by inviting her friend as well. Although the thought of having to converse with the lady was making him uncomfortable. Edward Knight had told him that Ms. Austen could get a bit high-and-mighty sometimes. Probably why she was friends with Aziraphale in the first place.

And so, his hired staff was pressured to prepare the most decadent feast, play the most tasteful music, and shine the ballroom to within an inch of its inanimate life sparing no amount of (hellish) money.

He was standing just above the throng, on the grand staircase that lead to the hall below. Behind his tinted glasses he searched the crowd. Enhanced by his powers and years of practice in finding his ethereal counterpart, he spotted the white-blonde curls immediately at the edge of the ballroom taking in the furnishings and the buffet table.

Her dress was dark red silk but it rippled with golden accents whenever she moved. Her pristine white lacy gloves ran up her arms, scalloped edges sitting a good two inches above her elbows, revealing strips of creamy forearms between gloves and sleeves. She had white feathers in her hair, ones Crowley were sure had been plucked from her own wings. They held an ethereal glow that was invisible to humans, but called out to him. He wondered how soft they’d be. He wondered what his own black feathers would look like in her (preferably tousled) white locks. But all those were surpassed by the shawl draped around her arms and meeting just below her artfully exposed and sumptuous….er, the shawl, right. It was black silk. But was adorned with curling golden snakes. It couldn’t have been a coincidence. But he was all too certain it was not. He gulped and sauntered down towards the bodies crowding slowly around Aziraphale. She had no right to wear his colors…. Unless she stood with him, arm draped in his.

For whatever expectation he had, the people did not part for him. For once in his life, he was not the center of attention, and it would have irked him more if he wasn’t already miffed that Aziraphale was giving that attention back at someone that was not him. He actually had to use a demonic miracle to get to the angel. Thankfully, Ms. Austen was not with her, but he would have preferred the woman rather than the sleazeball standing a little too close her.

“Crowley!” she sighed his name, almost crooning. How he missed that tone. He saw her admiring his new coat and he was bless- damned that he threw on his most debonair set of clothes yet.

“Glad you could make it.” He smiled, genuinely, at her, relieved that she acknowledged him. He didn’t miss the glances the rest of his guests gave them, especially the aforementioned bastard next to her. He wanted to sweep Aziraphale away from the humans and _finally_ be together. (Well, not together – together. Chatting, drinking, friendly togetherness, all good fun. Right.)

She must have remembered herself as she quickly curtsied and kept her head bowed. “I must thank you for the invitation Mr. Crowley,” she said with deliberate ease, loud enough for the few around them to hear. “I must admit I almost did not come.”

“Why?” he frowned.

“I was certain you, who must be in the habit of seeing only the most handsome among his peers, made a mistake to think of me.” There was an edge to her voice which meant she believed her own words.

But before he could reply, the man beside the angel cleared his throat. That earned him a glare from the demon, but the man held out his hand, undeterred. He stared at the gesture but didn’t move. Feeling awkward, the man tried introducing himself, “Sanders. Your trade associate...”

“Oh, yeah. You. Hi,” he still did not shake his hand and turned his attention back to the angel who was scanning the crowd, probably for her friend.

The man, not taking the hint, however, continued as he dropped his hand, "The ladies have been waiting for you to lead the dance, Mr. Crowley," said Sanders. He could see Aziraphale’s mouth turn down slightly.

“Can’t dance,” he said. Dances that era were too stiff. His hips did not cooperate.

“Every savage can dance,” Sanders tried at teasing, but his tone came out scathing instead.

"Well I do rather fancy not being called a savage,” Aziraphale, briefly distracted by the merriment around her turned to him then.

“Miss Fell, forgive me. That was meant for our host. He is being very unsociable at present. And all through his protestation about dancing, I am sure no man can really hate the activity despite the frivolity of the dancers. But I doubt he would say the same should you grace us with your dancing, Miss Fell.”

“I’m afraid I cannot dance. Perhaps that is the only commonality between Mr. Crowley and I.”

“I highly doubt that,” the demon murmured loudly. “Shall I tempt you with wine, Miss Fell?” he gestured to the many sparkling bottles at the nearby refreshments table. Her eyes sparkled at the display.

“Goodness, Crowley! How can you be so crass to a lady?” he was surveying the lady in question waiting for her to be shocked and blush becomingly.

“If her brother’s drinking habit is any indication, I am pretty sure she can hold more liquor than you,” he walked over to the table, chose a very good vintage, filling a pair of wine glasses, and returned holding one out to the angel, who readily accepted. Her eyes fluttered close as she breathed in its fruity scent.

“I daresay your crudeness is appalling, are you calling the woman a drunkard?” the human was not immune to the sudden reveal of the angel’s fair neck. Crowley himself was fighting to keep his thoughts in order.

“Ah, ah, ah, you misheard. I called her brother that.”

“Oh, please stop,” the lady gave an exasperated sigh, taking dainty sips of her wine.

“I cannot believe how calm you are taking this, Miss Fell. This man has no right to insult your good brother and yourself in front of you.”

“That's quite alright Mr. Sanders. I am sure my brother would say nothing of the matter, and as for me, well, our host has called me far worse.” She grinned at the demon who pouted uncharacteristically. Not very demonic of him, but he never could go full demon when near her. A puddle of lovesick goo, perhaps would be the better statement. Sanders, however did not seem pleased.

“My, do tell!” there was a sharpness to his tone.

“Well, the first time we were acquainted was at a ball in Hampshire, he tells of me being just tolerable. I must say it rendered me unable to enjoy my time. But to his defense it was true.”

Crowley could only open and close his mouth, unable to find the right words. Alright, so she hasn’t fully forgiven him. But wasn’t her chilly behavior the past few weeks enough of a payback?

“Mr. Crowley! To say such a thing to an angel!” the man clearly did not know how spot-on he was. “Please let me apologize in his behalf, Miss Fell it was most certainly NOT true.” He gave Crowley a warning glance.

“Come, Miss Fell. Let me make it up to you with a dance.”

“Oh, but I’m afraid I was not playing coy Mr. Sanders when I say I have two left feet.”

“Then let me give you your first lesson. You are missing out on all the fun.”

“That does sound like a sweet offer, but I see my friend is looking for me.” The girl, Crowley saw, was waving to her while shooting him the evil eye. “I had a delightful chat with you gentlemen. Please excuse me.”

“Well Crowley, you've been called out.” Sanders started as soon as Aziraphale was out of earshot. Crowley scowled at his shoes. He didn't mean it all like that. She was gorgeous but he can't say unless he wanted to make a fool of himself. If he starts, he won’t be able to stop, and who knows what else would come out of his mouth.

“She's one of the sweetest in the party. Have you heard her sing? Her voice is divine.”

“You seem rather attached,” he intoned icily.

“I’ve seen her around. I was just unfortunate to not have been introduced before. I resolved the matter just this evening. And have learned more about her with your most gracious help,” Crowley did not miss the sarcasm dripping from his words. “If the esteemed Mr. Crowley can’t be a gentleman, then perhaps I can,” he heard him murmur.

“What?”

“I shall have her by the year. She has the most dazzling smile. She may not be as rich as the other ladies, but her other… endowments would certainly not leave a man wanting,” Sanders grinned.

“What?” Crowley repeated, but this time he growled.

“Come Crowley. You can’t deprive me the opportunity just because you yourself had missed it!”

“Lay a hand on her and you will see the plains of hell far earlier than you should,” he let a little demonic tinge coat his words. His aura darkened and slowly filled the space between him and the man that was planning to take his angel from him.

Sanders visibly gulped, but didn’t back down. “You have no right over her. She is eligible and if you won’t take responsibility for your incompetence, then drop this nonsense. You can’t remove her from happiness other men would gladly give her,” his voice was gathering force. “Would you rob her of love?”

Crowley regarded the man, his intentions were clear to him. There was no love involved in his plan at all. Pure possessive lust was all there is, and the desire to outman Crowley himself. It wouldn’t be the first time he had to come face to face with a genuine lovestruck suitor for the angel. He turned his head towards her at the other side of the room. She was throwing them furtive glances. No doubt sensing his aura and what it was doing to Sanders. He had to behave. The angel will worry. But he reserved a wary eye on Sanders.

“She’s too perfect for the likes of us. Our souls are far too tainted and I will not have her Fall because of it,” he spat. “She can love whoever she wants. Sshe deservesss it,” he said, hating his snake’s tongue revealing itself under the stress of his emotions. He dragged his feet out of the room, and retired to his sitting room where he could look for stronger alcohol. He would be away from the fuss. The leech was right. He was being possessive. He couldn’t help it. His waking hours were pulled by the divine presence even if he was on the other side of the world. _Sides, huh_. He frowned as his thoughts turned darker. They won’t be happy together. A far gap to jump. And angel and a demon. How many times should he be reminded? Neither would be able to make it out alive. He wanted a nap but was forced to entertain his guests for the time being. Why did he even think that a ball was a good idea?

* * *

Aziraphale glided towards Jane. She was steered towards Jane’s dearest friend and sister Cassandra, who visited just that afternoon causing an impromptu invitation and the delay in their arrival. But with Jane’s attention divided, she gave herself permission to glance back towards her demon and the human who seemed to be in a heated debate.

Aziraphale bristled as she could feel barely contained anger from Crowley, upsetting the humans a good ten feet around them. She watched as the red-head retreated from Mr. Sanders. She felt a frown on her lips and a dip in her brow. What had they been talking about that made the demon run off? She moved to follow before Jane accosted her. “Alyza, you look troubled.”

Aziraphale would rather have followed Crowley but remembering that for propriety’s sake, they could not be allowed to talk in private. It would be scandalous. People were already saying she was running after the man’s fortune because “the poor girl has nothing at all”. She grimaced. Humans could be so harsh sometimes. Although Heaven was no better. Not to mention Jane had yet to forgive him from his earlier slight of her and the consequent dithering she had to face. But seeing the demon’s troubled expression crippled the remaining pettiness she harboured. Perhaps she had gone a little too far. She resolved to call him the next morning, however. Perhaps he’d be amenable to lunch.

“Nothing is wrong, my dear. I believe I drank a little too much wine and is now feeling its effects.” Jane was with her sister and the darling could not be prevailed upon to miss the rest of the evening because her mood had changed.

“You poor dear, come along. We shall get you to your lodgings.”

“Oh, hush, I am perfectly capable of going home by myself. I cannot impose upon your time any further than I should. You must enjoy the party for my sake, and your sister’s. It has barely started.”

“A young lady should not by herself at this time of the evening, even though you have been a denizen of London far longer than us,” Jane, bless her, insisted. “Let us hail you a coach.”

“Perhaps we may borrow the host’s carriage. From what I gather, he is most genial this evening and he has no use for it as he is already home.”

“What a great idea, Cassandra!” Aziraphale could see the spark set in Jane’s eyes. They both know Crowley could not refuse if it was asked in public. Another inconvenience to add to their list. “Come, let us find our most benevolent host.”

They found the man surrounded by men in tailcoats and buckled shoes immaculate under the lamps of a sitting room. Aziraphale could see he was bored and perhaps he had been accosted by the party and was forced to socialize though he barely knew their names, much like with Mr. Sanders. She could not help but be emphatic. He seemed as tired of the company of humans as she was, and was simply keeping up appearances before he could retire properly.

“Mr. Crowley,” Jane plowed ahead. He glanced up to look at her then his eyes darted quickly behind her to where Aziraphale stood with Cassandra. She gave him a small smile. His look of terror melted and he detached himself from the group to respond to Jane.

“How may I be of service Ms. Austen,” his voice was soft, a wistful edge, attention clearly not on Jane at all but at her. Aziraphale could feel herself blush. “Anything the matter?” his voice inflected genuine concern, understanding full well that the girl would not come to him unless it was of some degree connected with her. If she hadn’t melted from his previous tone, her legs were certainly wobbling then. Cassandra comprehending falsely came closer to her side to support her almost fainting corporation. Goodness, what the heavens was wrong with her?

“Alyza appears to have taken ill,” she said but at the last word Crowley was by Aziraphale’s side immediately. “We were hoping we may borrow your carriage to send her back. We were afraid to leave her in the mercies of London’s coachmen, and we understand time is of the essence,” she did not pause but also did not fail to notice his peculiar reaction.

“Was it the food? I’ll murder the chef if it was. Are you too hot? I’ll have someone air out the room immediately,” the demon was fidgeting, hands flailing about, clearly not knowing where to put them. He must not have heard Jane’s request for a carriage. “Sit down first, before anything else,” he urged her towards the nearest settee and called out for a servant to bring water. He himself took the liberty of opening the windows and ushering the finely dressed gentlemen out.

“Pardon me, Mr. Crowley,” Jane pushed.

“What?” Crowley growled while fanning the angel with a piece of paper he had secured from somewhere within the room.

Jane stepped back, but her face was impassive. “I see,” she murmured to herself. She changed tack, “I wanted to ask if you could make room for Alyza, it seems likely she is too ill to move.”

Aziraphale sputtered. That was not the plan! She stood quickly to protest but she stepped on the hem of her dress that had her falling into very strong arms. She squeaked realizing it was the demon’s and her whole body warmed. Jane turned her back on the couple and faced Cassandra who raised her eyebrows at her sister. Aziraphale knew she was smirking.

“Angel, you’re burning,” Crowley whispered. She could see past his tinted lenses and found worry in his eyes.

“I’m fine,” she piped up, voice of a higher register than normal. Clearing her throat and righting herself, she added, “Please, I do not want to encumber you and your staff. A carriage will be just fine.”

“Nope,” the demon quipped. “You’re staying. I can have a room ready in the amount of time the carriage manages to run out the stable.” His tone was firm and she felt a squeeze on her hand. She glanced down and found them clasped in his. When had that happened?

Before she knew it, Aziraphale was being ushered into one of the many rooms by Crowley’s housekeeper, Jane and Cassandra trailing behind, curious eyes dancing to and from the lavishly decorated hallways.

Somehow sleeping clothes were already laid out on the bed in her intended room and the ladies helped her get ready. Everything had been moving too quickly for her to process no further thoughts than her being made to stay in Crowley’s townhouse for an indeterminate amount of time. She groaned as Jane tucked her into bed, grinning from ear-to-ear.

“It seems our Gentleman Rogue does care,” she patted her arm.

“I am ill,” the angel protested weakly. She knew she was not, but she was feeling truly weak at the moment. “I swear, my dear that your schemes shall be the death of me.” Was it possible to discorporate from sheer embarrassment? She will not live to see the morning light.

Cassandra who had laid her red dress by the vanity sent her an apologetic smile and turned to her sister with an exasperated but fond air. “Jane, would you have Alyza suffer? Should her ailment worsen, would it be much a comfort to know it was all in pursuit of Mr. Crowley?”

“Oh, pooh. She will not die,” she waved her hands about. “We shall have clothes sent to you by the morrow. Ta!” she ushered Cassandra away before Aziraphale could grumble anew.

* * *

Crowley was anxious. He hastened to finish the ball hours before it ought to and rang the cook to bring soup and brioche to Aziraphale’s rooms. He detoured to the library before seeing her. The books were part of the estate, and he had wanted to show it off to the angel as soon as they had had a time to themselves. They might get to it the next day, if she felt better. He wasn’t sure if angels could get sick. If they could, she could heal herself in the next few hours. He scoured the shelves for the oldest book he could find and set off to visit his friend.

He found her sitting primly in bed, the cook fussing over a tray of food by the bedside and asking if she needed anything more. The angel was giving her the most dazzling smile and assuring her that she was “most definitely content, thank you kindly you darling woman.” He could not blame her dithering. Aziraphale’s smile when turned fully on a creature would captivate them to the point of addiction. It usually had him doting on her hand and foot.

Crowley cleared his throat and the woman after meeting her master’s glare scurried away.

“What have you been doing to my staff, angel?”

“Nothing, dear boy. I simply complemented her on her mouthwatering brioche and her rich soup.” She took a spoonful of said soup from the bowl in her hands and moaned. It left him vexed. He was on a tight leash as it were, trying very hard not to slither into the very warm-looking nest of pillows with her (there weren’t as many before, he knew), but now he had to witness her making those kinds of noises _in a bed_.

He steeled himself and came closer. Everything about her looked soft and inviting and oh so very tempting. But he couldn’t help but remember why she was in his (well, he did own it) bed.

“What happened angel?”

“Nothing _happened_ ,” she huffed. “I am not really sick. Just weary perhaps. Humans can be very exhausting. And nowadays we have nowhere else to run off to, now do we?” he stared out into the star-studded night lost in thought.

“You’re right they’re everywhere.”

Silence.

“I’m sorry,” she said, after a beat.

“What for?” his voice was breathy.

“Oh, for being petty perhaps,” she couldn’t help but giggle. “Although I did not regret dressing in your signature style, my dear. I dare say the colours do wonders when dressing to impress.”

“Who were you trying to impress?” Sanders face flashed before his eyes. His heartstrings twanged painfully.

“Oh, no one in particular. Perhaps I was tired of being called “plain”.

“You’re not you know. Er… I guess it was my fault,” he grimaced. “I didn’t mean what I said before. Can’t let anyone hear a demon _complimenting_ people,” he suddenly found the curtains veeery interesting.

He heard a soft “oh” from the bed’s vicinity. He said what he had to, but why was he getting more nervous? His mouth was suddenly very dry.

Perhaps the angel had sensed his uneasiness and tactfully changed the subject. “What’s that in your hand my dear?”

“Oh, a book,” he said sheepishly, remembering the object he carried in. “The place has got a library when I got it. Though you might want something to read for the night if you weren’t sleeping.”

She beamed at him as he handed it over. “That is very considerate of you, dear.” She finished off her meal before gingerly thumbing the pages. “This is in wonderful condition and you say you have a whole library here?” She wiggled at the prospect. She set the book carefully on the bedside table to turn her full attention back to him.

“I’ll let you kip in there if you want. I won’t be opposed for you staying a few days.” He drawled trying and failing not to hope that she’d say yes.

“Oh, but I can’t really stay.” There goes his happy little hope bubble.

“Why not? Look, I know you hate me and all, but is that really necessary? I mean this is my place and I say you could stay as long as you want,” he said, glad he didn’t sound desperate.

“Oh, you misunderstand my dear. I don’t hate you,” she rolled her eyes. “It’s just that, we supposedly have just met twice so far. People already think I’m trying to claim you as a suitor and having me here far longer than I should would have them thinking I was seducing you!” she groused. “I mean you know what I’m like in a library. I might not leave for months. We’d look like we were living together out of wedlock, I would be branded as one of those promiscuous women.”

“Do their opinions really matter?” Crowley was proud he was able to string words together to form a coherent sentence. He was reeling from the barrage of words the angel sent his way. His brain was struggling to process “don’t hate you,” “claim you as a suitor,” “seducing you,” and “living together.”

“Crowley, I do love chatting with you, but I would prefer for people to believe I still have some dignity intact. I can’t even enter a room with one of those gossip-mongers without the whole company sneering behind my back.”

“Why would they be gossiping about you?” his brain functions were trying their utmost best to remove the words “chatting with” from her first sentence, and he was doing his best to stay on topic.

“Please be sensible, my dear,” the angel fretted. “You’ve made your intentions very clear to your peers that you do not desire me. And when you tire of me, I would be laughingstock!”

“I’m sure they won’t laugh at us being very good friends,” Crowley could really not follow her thoughts and said so. He couldn’t help but frown. He didn’t expect one careless little comment would cause a person a great amount of damage. He generally liked inflicting misery but not if it was his angel’s. Never her.

“I know you’re not one for the rules, dear boy, but we need to act like humans. That much exposure with each other would give them… expectations,” she was blushing and worrying the bed sheets. She looked at him beseechingly. For what, the demon was at a loss for. When she understood he was going to say nothing more, her frown grew and her cheeks reddened in irritation. “Can’t you at least try becoming more of a gentleman to spare my virtues,” she snapped at last.

“Well, sorry for not being the perfect gentleman,” he snarled. He was frustrated more at himself for not knowing what to do to help, but can’t help but deflect the anger back at her. “If you really want to protect your _virtues_ , best you not fraternize with a demon.” He turned and left, slamming her door close which brought a maid scurrying to the room to check on their guest. He didn’t even bother trying to hide his fury.

Entering his own chambers, he sighed. He really ought to sleep. Hopefully things would be more cordial by breakfast.

When he woke, Aziraphale had gone, the book he showed her looking untouched on the bedside table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos and comments! <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's done! And... the words skyrocketed. I didn't want to cut it, just didn't feel right to me. Again, pardon any misspellings and grammatical errors, I have no beta. And I write this before going to bed.
> 
> CW: Attempted non-con. But mild. Very mild. Happened once and never again. Actually, didn't even really happen.
> 
> Thanks to all the kudos and comments!

_My dearest Jane,_

_Please forgive my sudden departure. My brother summoned me over to a nice little cottage somewhere in Edinburgh closer to his business associates. It appears he wanted a woman to cater to the domesticities. I do not fault him and the scenes are ever so refreshing. I wish you could visit before we relinquish the place, but brother is uncertain as to how long we must stay. With his fickle disposition, we might leave at a moment’s notice, and I would rather not subject you to such inconveniences. But the place has such an air to it that I know you would have loved._

_And my dear, I know you are piqued at what had happened that night at Mr. Crowley’s but I assure you nothing untoward happened. I dare say you’d hear the gossip running around soon enough, but I shall not write down the news you so wish to hear. Take this, my friend, as your just rewards after putting me through that excruciating ordeal._

_Yours,_

_Alyza Fell_

Aziraphale set her quill aside and breathed. She penned the letter as soon as she arrived at her temporary quarters. She knew Jane would be very sad that she had to go. But she needed to be far away from London to cool off. Thankfully she remembered a nice little village in Edinburgh where she could kip until Crowley stops being a pernicious snake (to her, at least).

She had left as early as it was possible to do so. She had had to miracle a servant boy to bring her tidings of her ‘brother’ sending for her to come with him to the north as soon as she was amenable. She made sure to tell the housekeeper so, within earshot of the maid the night before. But she knew it had been a very suspicious affair. She ran off with the effusions that her brother ‘was an hour away from the town by coach, and she really must run.’ She also sent by them her thanks to her host, who she knew would be asleep until noon that day, saving both of them face. (Unbeknownst to her, but expected nonetheless, she had become the subject of many whispers. The maid had professed far and wide that she and Crowley had had a tiff and she had to hide in fear of reprimands.)

Aziraphale was considering spending a month in Edinburgh and hoping it was enough for the ton to find something else to talk about. Her only regret was leaving Jane behind and wasted precious human hours to spend with her friend.

She spent her days strolling along the streets of Edinburgh and reveling in whatever it had to offer. First things first, she promised herself to visit every bookstore and restaurant available.

She had lost count of the days when reality came crashing back. In the form of her demon. The red-head looked lost, meandering through the cobbled lanes, but he couldn’t have come beside a temptation. Best to thwart him quickly lest she bolts away to hide again and leave him wreak havoc in the city.

* * *

It had been a week and Crowley was at his wit’s end. He kept waiting for Aziraphale to come back to London. His senses told him the angel was in Scotland, but he knew better than to run over to demand they talk. That would make her move farther away. So, he resolved to wait.

“It was better she’d gone, or else I might have perhaps been in very big trouble,” he mused. “Blast it all, she’s always right.” He grumbled. He remembered the reason she fled and cringed. He was safe from most of the accusations being male-presenting, but Aziraphale was right, she was under more scrutiny. He guessed he was too excited that they were talking again that he shushed his one remaining braincell and had even forgotten to wipe the memory of his and the angel’s spat from the maid’s mind. Too bad he couldn’t do that to the whole of London without alerting Hell.

“Or maybe I really should just marry her and be done with it.”

_And she’d say ‘yes’ will she?_ Came his inner voice.

“Shut up,” he told himself.

A fortnight ran past and still no news of the angel. He was rambling along the small garden of his manor having nothing better to do. He had starting talking to the plants instead of himself. He rather liked the exercise of venting out his frustrations on them. Plants were better conversationalists, if you asked him. He might need a garden in his next dwellings when the manor house became too outdated to him. Or at least keep a potted one or two to berate once in a while, preferably when the angel wasn’t talking to him. Help keep him sane.

“So, it’s my fault?” he addressed the rose bush in his garden, as he clipped off a few browning leaves and wilting buds. “Is it really my fault that humans have nothing better to do than jump to the worst possible outcome and spread it like hellfire to consume their burning need to make others miserable?” The plant said nothing, but Crowley seemed pacified for the moment.

But no matter the audience, he still felt the itch of staying too far from the angel. It was roaring to get his attention. He was surprised at his own feet walking into the Bastille with no plan at all to save his one true constant in the universe. _Sap_ , his inner voice snickered. He decided he needed a good glass of wine. And thus, he got himself roaring drunk inside his own wine cellar, not enjoying very much as he missed a certain talkative ethereal being getting as drunk as he was. He shook his head and decided perhaps he should take a nap. The wine though (opened bottles as far as the darkest corner of the basement) was a poor decision on his part, because he soon found himself somewhere in Edinburgh, following the trace of the holy presence he was all too familiar with.

When he got his bearings, he cursed himself and sobered up. Seeing as he was already there, and not exactly knowing how, he got there, he took found himself lodgings for the night and decided to leave the next day. His hind brain whispering, “preferably with Aziraphale in tow.”

The next day when he got up, he decided to see the sights. He’d mostly left off of tempting people from there as it was the angel’s turf after all. Whenever he went north, he’d go to Glasgow. He ambled about in late morning light mentally checking on the many restaurants there were on display and subconsciously wondering which one Aziraphale would care to go to have lunch when said lady accosted him.

“What are you doing here?” she hissed. “Need I remind you that as per our Agreement, you leave Edinburgh to me. God knows you sent me here to do your work far too many times. Is nothing sacred to you, my dear?” she huffed.

All Crowley’s surprised mouth could say was, “Demon.” _Smooth, very smooth_. _Probably what she wanted to hear_. He backtracked quickly as he saw the angel’s eyes glint menacingly. “I’m not here for work,” he held out his hands in a placating manner. “Just came by to look at the place. Got a little boring in London.” He added.

“Oh,” she relented then tilted her head in consternation, finger poised on her delicate chin. “I have had no news from London. I hope everything has died down there.” She said this mostly to herself. And Crowley was left wondering what she was on about, and so delicately broached the subject.

“What has died down?” _Yup, delicate._

The angel blushed. “Nothing, nothing at all, my dear.” She countered far too quickly to be NOT suspicious. “Shall I tempt you to lunch, then? There’s this lovely little place just down the road.”

She was deflecting, but relented. “Alright angel,” he said instead. He’ll needle out the truth one way or the other. They walked down the street in a respectable distance and Crowley couldn’t exactly ask why she ran off the day after the ball. He knew she was mad but and he didn’t want to ruin the mood they were in. Instead, looking up towards a nearing bookstore, he said. “Have you been looking for books all this time, angel?”

“Well, my ‘brother’ wanted a few more to add to his collection and I was just accompanying him.” She said with a sparkle in her eyes, the same one she gets when she was able to get away with mischief, or at least thought she did.

“Need help getting them back to town then?” he just couldn’t help himself, could he? Thankfully the angel didn’t notice his needy offering. Instead she mentioned having a cottage somewhere in a less crowded area of the town and had her newest acquisitions there. She was prattling on about the many volumes sitting in her little living room when a very unwelcome voice took shook their comfortable tête-à-tête.

“Why, is it really you, Miss Fell?” voice dripping in false honeyed tones. The demon could just detect the fire of lust simpering beneath. ”Mr. Crowley,” he nodded tersely. _Great_ , he thought. Just the ticket, he had to vie for the angel’s attention when all he wanted was coax her to invite him over to her cottage.

“Off for lunch?” he continued deliberately not looking at Crowley.

The angel was all smiles, as she usually was. “Oh, yes. We were just about to enter the restaurant.”

“I never thought you’d be very close with Monsieur Crowley, Miss Fell,” the implications were heavy. The demon frowned.

“We crossed paths today and thought to get lunch together,” she said simply.

“And now we crossed paths, may I come along, then?” The man did not know when he was most definitely NOT wanted.

“Yes, of course,” the lady said automatically. Damn her politeness, but at least he caught the little downturn of her lips before leading them down the way.

He shot the man a glare, he knew even with his dark lenses they would reach him. But his nemesis did not even flinch, probably basking in the false sense of safety being out in public and being with a lady gave him. And so, they entered the restaurant together and was seated at a modest little table. It felt homey, bordering on intimate if there were only the two of them.

The food wasn’t at par with their usual London jaunts but the angel seemed to like the taste letting out her little moans and sighs as usual. Crowley would have enjoyed the scene had she not another audience who seemed to have forgotten that he was supposed to be eating. He had to kick his legs once or twice, sometimes when he wasn’t distracted by the angel, for the fun of it. He used his long gangly legs being far too cramped under the table as excuse.

“Shall you be here long?” Sanders asked as they drank their after-meal tea, finally getting his composure back.

“Oh, well,” there was a little furrow on the angel’s brow, clearly unsure. She might have had the quick idea to run off, but had yet to come to any foolproof planning on her side, they weren’t as mindful with time, being immortal and all. “Depends on my brother really,” she decided.

“Oh, will we meet him then?” said he. “I’d be honored to make his acquaintance.”

The angle was scrabbling for a reply. Crowley snorted.

“May I ask the source of your amusement, sir?” giving him a passing glance.

“I’m sure the brother is very busy, isn’t he angel? I mean, I just met the man this morning,” and oh, look at that, the angel was innocently surprised and confused at the same time. Adorable really. Perhaps he’d get that smile again, the one she gives him after every rescue he had had to do to get her out of the scrapes she let herself into.

“You know her brother?” Sanders was fuming knowing that the demon had one point higher than him.

“Old friends,” he supplied.

“I see. Well it was lovely to chat with you,” he said looking solely at the blonde. “I must be off. But before that, might I interest you for a play tomorrow night Miss Fell? I have just come into tickets at a local theater. They said the proceeds would greatly help them in procuring toys for the children in the hospital wards.” Crowley looked closer and had found it to be true. The man seemed to have been coerced into said tickets but had suddenly found them very helpful

“That sounds interesting,” the red-head said. “Such a worthy cause. Might look into it and perhaps see you there.”

“Ah,” the man said swiftly enjoying the news he was about to impart. “But there are no more tickets, at least as far as I’m aware of.”

“That’s a shame, you’d have loved to give a little something to the children wouldn’t you, my dear?” the angel said with such a fond look, momentarily forgetting that they oughtn’t to know each other so well. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so harsh with her.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he sent out a quick miracle to remove the aches and pains of the children in the direction of the hospital responsible for the event. She beamed at him knowingly.

“Right.” Time to leave before he does the same to all the hospitals in the area. Hell might be alerted with that big a miracle. He quickly said his goodbyes as soon as the other had.

* * *

Aziraphale wasn’t enjoying her time watching the play. She was disconcerted at the tension building between Mr. Sanders at her right and Crowley at her left. They were glaring daggers and she just wanted to try and focus on the show. Although she’d seen it far too many times, including the original performance. Deciding to do something about it, she slyly took Crowley aside during the break and demanded what the hell he was doing.

“Look, I’m trying to get his hands away from you.” He looked ready to whisk her away, but they can’t disappear on Mr. Sanders.

“My dear, I can take care of myself, besides you don’t know that Mr. Sanders wants his “hands on me” as you put it.”

“Trust me angel, he does.” He could be very insistent.

“Alright, but can you please behave a little better? I don’t want a repeat of what happened a few weeks ago, I could feel the misery of the people around you. Please let these people have their lovely night out.”

“So, you’re taking his side then?” his voice rising.

“What side Crowley?” the conversation was veering off the topic at hand. “I just want to watch the play and here you are trying to make a mess of things.”

“Right. Mess. Me.” He spewed out through gritted teeth. “If I’m that horrible then I best stay.” With a snap he disappeared, probably to cool his head. Hopefully. But she sighed knowing he’s sulking again and won’t be coming back.

She sabotaged their evening again when apparently the demon had done what he could to spend time with her, even after their previous fight. She went back to their seats with a heavy heart after the break and Sanders looked smug as the night progressed and there was still no sign of Crowley.

On the way out the theater, riding the high of scaring the mighty Crowley off, Sanders made his move. As soon as they entered an isolated street, he slipped his arm to catch the angel’s waist and pulled to kiss her. She slapped him hard on the cheeks before he even got close to her lips.

“How very dare you!” she screamed. She was too engrossed being morose that she just realized that they’ve left the crowd and there was no one about on the street.

The man was stunned, the slap felt more like a punch. It would have broken his neck if the angel had been less used to reigning in her, literally, God-given strength. “I know you are trying to be coy Miss Fell, but I thought with the show you put on yesterday at lunch, you were just waiting for me to ravish you.” He said lowly, attributing the stinging on his face as her surprise that led to an extra bout of power.

“Excuse me?” she could only gasp, gripping her coat tightly around her.

“You can’t have me believe that you had actually moaned because of the food,” he said incredulously.

She frowned at him. “I am not sure what you are referring to but for now I am more concerned about how it is you quickly thought I would let you touch me without my permission.”

“Every lady wants to be swept of their feet.” There was manic glee in his tone. Perhaps the man had gone unhinged.

“Then let me be the first to say that this lady does not. At least not in the way you wish to do it.”

“But I’m a respectable enough gentleman that would gladly have taken care of your needs,” something about his statement rankled her and decided not to ask whatever ‘needs’ he meant.

“I’m sorry but I cannot agree with your statement. I am now certain that you are neither a gentleman, nor respectable and I am wholeheartedly failing to believe that you could take care of my needs.” She lifted her nose at him in disdain.

“Ah, but I am very experienced with matters of the female heart,” he said as he slowly advanced on her. “She felt her back hit a wall, arm ready to slap him again.

“But of course, as I understand it,” he said stopping just a few steps before her. “It is fun to have a bit of cat-mouse. So perhaps we shall end for tonight then when I do see you again, I shall be spurned once more, but I shall know it is all in good faith. Rest easy Miss Fell, that I understand your thoughts entirely.” She made to protest at his foolhardy utterances but the man was lost in his own monologue.

“Yes, you shall be mine all the same, just don’t make me wait too long Miss Fell, or shall I call you Alyza now that we’ve reached our current state intimacy?” He brightened. Aziraphale was revolted. “I mean, who else would be willing to take you up on such meager amounts of income, I’m pretty sure Crowley is playing you more than I am, so I am your best bet here.” His smile quickly turned into a leer. “I promise you both punishment and reward on our wedding night from trying to keep up with your slow seduction. I shall make haste while I still have complete control of myself and have our game last longer. I trust you to find your own way back. You know where to find me, I shall stay for a week to await your answer.” And with that he turned to walk off, whistling.

She was stunned. Was she just proposed to? And in such a brash manner. The indecency of the thing. Barely able to contain her annoyance, she snapped her fingers and found herself in her living room back at her cottage. She set about making tea, trying to calm all the anger she was feeling at the thought that the man had deluded himself in thinking she would accept his proposal. She stayed hidden the whole week never showing herself in town and hoping that Mr. Sanders had gone and she was left in peace.

She stayed another month and a half in Scotland to make sure. She had felt a little lonely all alone and not able to come out of her lodgings. Not to mention she had been missing the meals she could have gotten from the town’s restaurants.

In the end she decided to return to London where Jane had rightfully raved at her for disappearing and not writing for so long. She had confided in her all the things that had happened of her plight in Crowley’s manor and her time in Scotland including the mortifying ordeal with Mr. Sanders – the proposal, not the assault. The poor girl would fret more. After her friend’s effusions, alternating between disgust over Sanders and her intrigue over Crowley, Jane regarded her blankly. And coming to a conclusion she invited her friend to stay with her at her brother’s estate.

“Come to Godmersham with me, Alyza. We’d be much more comfortable in a place less populated than here. Edward has kids we could entertain while there. I write the scripts for they to playact, you see.” The angel saw no reason to refuse.

* * *

Edward Knight had called Crowley over to Godmersham Park for a few weeks of shooting. He immediately took up the offer. The town felt constricted somewhat. And the gossips were tedious. And if he wasn’t certain that Hell was currently giving him a wide berth, he would have thought they were torturing him. Because – the thing is, you see, and this is the whole damning crutch of it – they were talking about the angel. His angel. And that Sanders fellow. TO HIS FACE. Of course, his previous comment spread and they were likely showing him that Miss Fell was, in fact, desirable. Not that he cared, really, that a certain human was spending a lot more of time with the love of his life. Not one bollocksing bit.

He knew Aziraphale wouldn’t marry the man but he felt slighted. Their last meeting had gone completely wrong. He was petulant, very much so, but his inner voice couldn’t help but nag him that the angel chose the human instead of him. Well he was a demon, how many times had she said it to remind him. And to be fair, he was a little unstable with his emotional projections. The angel likely would choose the humans more than him because she knew that he could take care of himself. But he was still tired of it all. So, to Godersham he went, hoping for a few day’s reprieve from all the thinking.

His nerves had flown from him the moment he saw Aziraphale descend from the coach. Edward ran over towing him along. He studiously studied the horses and not the ladies coming down from the vehicle. He still felt the moment the angel’s eyes landed on him and stayed there. He wasn’t sure what the angel would think of him storming away, _again_. He didn’t send a glance her way.

“Jane, wonderful to see you as always,” Edward greeted his sister and pinching Crowley’s arm before offering his own to her. “And Miss Fell. Or should I say, Mrs. Sanders,” he greeted the blonde genially.

“Pardon?” Aziraphale gaped, taking her eyes away from the demon. “Excuse me, but I have no idea what you are talking about and why ever would you call me that?” Crowley had fed on the blonde’s smiles to last him the centuries they’ve been apart, but the scowl she was sporting then was by far the lovelier. He felt his anxieties normalize, or how normal they already were with keeping his love from the angel. So, she wasn’t as attached to the prick after all.

Their host looked on, confused. “I must admit I’ve yet to find it in the papers but I was of the mindset that Sanders had proposed when you crossed paths at Scotland, and that you accepted.” The silence was deafening. “In fact, everyone here believes it so,” he said meekly, obviously understanding that it was not a ‘fact’ at all.

“Thank you for the warning,” the angel’s voice was steel, her demeanor like a warrior readying themselves for war. Crowley’s knees grew weak. “But may I ask,” she continued in the same tone, demanding honesty and nothing else. “How you all came to such a conclusion?” Two different serpents cocked their heads in recognition of the venom she almost spat at Edward. Crowley shifted his stance to hide the proof of watching Aziraphale-the-bastard show.

Thankfully, she was trained on the other man, who coughed under the attention. “Sanders…” he started, like a child forced to confess. “Sanders propagated the news of your marriage. And before that, your dates these past months you were gone.”

Aziraphale turned her head towards Jane, who stiffened immediately. “And how long have _you_ known, my dear?”

“Just last week!” she squeaked, then fought to get a hold of herself. “Sanders confided that you are on the verge of accepting his proposal. And as you weren’t around and I, having trouble locating your dwellings to send my letters, could not have proven the statement false.”

“For goodness’ sake!” she groaned. Jane seeing Aziraphale looking less murderous continued.

“From the way he professed your love to each other, I merely thought you were keeping the news to surprise me at a more opportune moment. But then you talked of spurning after two meetings. That was why I asked you to come with me, to set the stories right,” She soothed. “Now that I think about it, it is only today that I’ve learned that the news was spread about.”

“Wait, he did propose?” Crowley glowered.

“And now they believe I am his fiancé!” Crowley grimaced. The angel would have quite a mess to smooth over. “Please do not speak of that man to me any further. He has made return truly miserable.”

“Well, if I may. He is rather interested and I can’t believe you won’t waste such an opportunity,” Edward was silenced with three sets of glares. “Erm…”

“What say you invite him for shooting, dear brother,” Jane said excitedly after a moment’s silence.

“And why would he do that?” Crowley spat. Aziraphale could only let out a dismayed whine.

“Why, we shall expose the man being the sham he is, of course. We will need him and an audience to do so,” she grinned.

He supposed the Austen girl wasn’t so bad after all.

* * *

She stood to the side, doing her best to lurk. Angels don’t lurk, yes. But it was necessary at that point. Being around Crowley had taught her a thing or two. She didn’t want attention drawn to her before the confrontation. One more sweep over the room, and there!

Mr. Sanders had just payed his respects to their host, and Edward had escorted him to a gaggle of partygoers, perhaps to introduce him. She slowly ran her hands on her gown and her hair. She had not been in the mood to make herself as pretty as the last ball she attended, but Jane had taken on the task for her.

She ambled towards the group with a steady determination. She can’t have them besmirching her name despite it being fake. The man’s eyes quickly locking unto her figure. He simply nodded in her direction which she did not return. Crowley took this moment to insinuate himself with the group.

He took her hand to leave a kiss. Aziraphale was taken aback as well as the others in the group. He simply winked at her and _that_ sent her blushing madly. She recovered, but the little anxiety she felt while walking over dissipated.

“How admirable you are, Miss Fell,” she heard Sanders drawl, clearly jealous of the exchange. “Keeping Mr. Crowley on his toes,” he simpered.

“He has every right to greet me the way he does with other women, I’m sure,” she stated blandly, but she shot Crowley a little smile to show she approved of his efforts to calm her. The demon gave her a roguish grin.

“Steady on, darling, you won’t want to lead the man on, would you?” there was a bare hint of menace in his tone.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Crowley drawled back, not liking the endearment the man tacked on to his angel. “It would be a shame to not let someone as tempting as her accompany my dashing self.” She rolled her eyes at the demon who was clearly enjoying egging the man on.

“Yes, although I distinctly remembered you admonishing the lady from being handsome before. It either tells us Cupid missed his mark, or that you admit that your standards had finally lowered,” the man countered. Crowley was unfazed. He was busy relieving watching the angel getting flustered over the statement that started it all.

“My standards are rather impulsive. What man would not take his fill of the pleasure a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow.” Aziraphale expected him to joke but not the insistence in his voice. The demon was turned to her. A silent plea for her to believe him. Everyone else was snickering at them. She knew what she wanted to say, but not in the middle of a meddling crowd. She could only offer him a smile promising _more_ when they find time to themselves.

Mr. Sanders chose that moment to spout, “When may I to wish you joy?” They were flirting in front of him and Aziraphale was enjoying his mood turning sour. She and everyone else in the room could see that she was not interested in him anymore, or perhaps had never been. It going according to plan but she would not have him make fun of her demon.

“Oh my, that won’t do,” she said icily. The spectators instantly went quiet, hanging on her every word. “You see, human imagination can be rather advanced, especially when it comes to shows of affection. It jumps from admiration to love and from love to matrimony. A failing, I am sure, you admit to?”

Sanders hissed.

“I for one, am warry of marriage,” she went on. “I would ask for more than just lunch, I paid for, and a paltry play to sway me to accept.” She paused to let her words sink in. “But enough about me,” she flashed him an inconspicuous sneer. “I hear you have had your eye on a certain little lady. I’m afraid I’ve been very much behind on the many goings on in town.” She kept her face looking as innocent as she could. They were attracting a crowd and she could feel the confusion among the newest additions who have, as per the norm, eavesdropped on the little group.

She heard someone cough and saw the others’ eyebrows skyrocketing. The angel felt ill at the display. She generally loved humans, but she knew these lot were not worthy of it. She could not hate, no, but she could take pity on them. They, whose amusements came from other people’s discomfort. She had fell victim to their taunting. A waste of her energy she could have used for making the world a better place. It had just dawned on her that she was far above such petty problems. Why in the world had she thought she had to please them? She smiled warmly at the crowd, feeling freed.

She giggled and said, “Although I do not envy the girl. I know how atrocious it was to receive your _affections_ and now she must suffer being the subject of gossip.” She took in their wary faces. “I mean, **you’ve** all been nattering on about me behind my back for the past few months where I couldn’t even eat in public anymore. My how tongues do wag.” She let her words settle in the air.

“What?” That was Crowley. She had quite forgot he was there. “What have they been saying? And what’s with the not eating anymore?”

She gave him a warning look, despite being thrilled that he was actually distressed at her not eating. She turned back to the group, who were inching slowly away. She felt Crowley’s aura permeate the room and knew the humans would likely have nightmares for the rest of the week if she enumerate the many things they said. She was still and angel, thus she would show them mercy.

“Oh, this and that.” She waved her hands about in a vague manner. “Really, it does not bother me anymore. Of course, except for the latest.” She put on her most blameless expression then aimed it at the weakest of the party. Her plan worked and the poor dear was forced to voice out the news that she and Mr. Sanders were romantically inclined.

She scrunched her nose in revulsion, thinking of how entangled they believed them to be. Well, she can’t have that.

“Have I not made my refusal clear Mr. Sanders that night after the play?” she lifted her head more haughtily. Even the band had stopped playing. She was making a scene. Maybe Crowley’s ostentatiousness did have a certain appeal. “Was the slap on your cheek not enough an indication after you forced yourself on me?”

She heard a choke nearby, amidst the collective gasps in the room, and turned to find the demon barely setting himself ablaze, murder in his naked eyes which he had flashed in Mr. Sanders direction. Thankfully all the others were also looking at the human until he hid them again. She felt herself blush. Oh, she knew she ought to intervene, but the protectiveness wafting off Crowley was doing rather interesting things to her corporation’s heart and er… other regions.

She chided herself. Not very angelic. She shot another glance back at the red-head and hid her smile. Perhaps she could enjoy the sensations just a little bit more.

* * *

Crowley was fuming.

“You did what?” he growled menacingly and started advancing towards the man, who had stilled, fear clearly etched on his face. He would rip him to shreds and escort him towards the darkest pit of hell.

He felt a firm hand on his arm and he would have ripped it off had he not felt the calming angelic energy behind it. He closed his eyes and turned towards Aziraphale instead. “I’m sorry, angel. I shouldn’t have left you alone with him.” He cursed himself at the gentleness that he let slip. He could feel the interest of the crowd shift to them almost immediately. Very few had heard him call her ‘angel’ until that moment. He only said it deliberately in front of Sanders to stake a claim to her affections in some way. But he really couldn’t care as much since the focus of his attention was smiling at him so sweetly.

“Don’t berate yourself, please.” And oh, how soft that voice was. “I should have listened to you. You were right.” The angel telling him he was right! He couldn’t even tell her the ‘I told you so,’ because she had let her pride down just for him in the middle of a ball no less.

She continued looking at the hand grasping at Crowley’s arm but, thankfully, not letting go because the next words out her mouth would have had him blazing in hellfire.

“I was grateful that he thought I was being modest and backed off from trying to take another kiss from me after his first failed.”

“Oi!” the shout brought the man back into action and before anyone else could move, he had already bolted out the door and not even Edward’s servants caught him.

“Please don’t try to hunt him down, my dear.” The angel said quietly beside him. It was exactly what he wanted to do. “You’ll have to ride a horse to follow him. Carriages would be too heavy to be fast enough.” She gave him a knowing smile and he felt the anger leave him. She was right, of course, sore buttocks were annoying. The man was already on his way to hell. He supposed he could right him off in one of his reports and ask to be notified when he reached the gates to greet him especially.

Sensing his acquiescence, the angel let her hand go. Then sighed. “I’m sorry but I must speak with Jane. She was not acquainted with the details of that night and I fear she’d scold me something fierce,” she said with an anxious but fond smile. “But maybe we’ll have a talk ourselves later?” she sounded do hopeful as if he won’t want to talk to her. Crowley’s insides turned to mush.

“Of course, angel.” And she beamed at him before turning to look for the Austen girl, dismissing the throng of bodies peppering her with questions.

He was pondering how many minutes constituted “later” when he heard a voice harrumphing towards him. It was a mother of a slim, flighty girl whose name he immediately forgot after the introduction.

“Oh, Mr. Crowley, I do hope you not take her side of this.” ‘Her’ of course being Aziraphale.

“What is wrong, Madame, of me having to defend a lady’s honor?” He drawled. He can keep his emotions in check if the angel wasn’t there to distract him.

“She’s not much of a lady with that tongue.” She clucked. People really can be hypocrites. “And letting herself alone with a man with no chaperone!”

He was glad Aziraphale promised to meet him or else his tone would have been more scornful than the woman in front of him. “I beg your pardon, but I shall have you know I was at the same event with them but had run off on some errand. I regret ever leaving her now.” He was. He very much was. He’d have loved to see the man slapped. “And,” he continued “I don’t really know where your derision comes from, but I myself cannot fault a woman with speaking her mind. She may voice her opinions as much as she wants, her brother is a gentleman whose opinions I have massive regards for, therefore extends the same liberties to her.”

“She is below you! Undeserving of your attention, really. You could do so much better,” she eyed her daughter pointedly.

“I assure you madame that her station is not my concern. I am a gentleman and she is a gentleman’s daughter.” To be frank though, both angels and demons have no known parents, but mortals at that period were obsessed with their patriarchal connections.

“Are you not alarmed of having to shoulder the expenses of a woman greatly lacking in wealth and prestige?” she almost screeched.

“I am rich enough to take care of myself and my wife besides. She will be in want of nothing. She shall have whatever she would want, and more. And who I allow to receive my affections shall have earned my respect of them and that I in turn shall wish only for reciprocation.” He wondered how much his words would reach the angel before the night ends. He hoped it would be before they meet. He wanted to bury his previous unflattering comments. Maybe he’ll get her to smile at him softly again.

“Well, I am shocked,” the woman huffed. “I’d have thought you a more reasonable gentleman. It appears you live only to astound us. But please give me your word that you will not enter into an engagement which will disgrace you.”

“Eh,” he said grinning. “Miss Fell already holds more Grace than any person in this room, I’m sure she’ll have enough to share to someone as damned as me.” With a smirk, he slipped off to find the right bottle of wine to share with his angel.

* * *

They met in Godmersham’s pristine gardens, walking the moonlit lanes exchanging smiles and light brushes of hands. They expected to find a bench and they did with Crowley brandishing the bottle he nipped from the refreshments table. They sat in the moonlight, watching the clear sky, passing the bottle between them. Aziraphale letting herself relax when she knows no one was looking. They’ve done this before when meeting during assignments within the same cities, wiling the night away and parting ways when the sun graced the horizon. With the Arrangement, it happened less and less. But Crowley treasured them all.

“I must thank you,” the lady whispered, doing her best keep the dreamlike atmosphere. “For what you said, about my eyes, I mean.”

Crowley wondered if it was her voice, or the loving looks she sent his way, that made him answer sincerely, “But I meant every word, angel.”

“And what you said to Lady Bender?” she asked, the dim light not quite hiding her blush.

“Who?” He asked lamely. So much for gravitas. He could really ruin a mood. He ought to remember human names better.

“The old woman weighed down in pearls,” she added helpfully. _Oh_ , he thought, _the woman who said he shouldn’t choose Aziraphale._

“Same thing,” he mumbled. He ran his hands through his hair not really knowing what to do with them. He hadn’t troubled putting pockets in his pants. He was starting to _feel_ again, and he wasn’t used to being known. He fidgeted with them a couple of times, until he felt them being tucked into soft ones. The angel’s fingers held them firmly but she kept her face down. She’d gotten very close all of a sudden. He couldn’t see her expression but he heard her stammering voice.

“My dear, please,” she breathed. “You may not know, but after all you’ve done for me and all you’ve said. Well, I-I… _You_ have given me hope. Not for marriage, of course, but I am not really opposed to the tradition, but, please… As a demon, we were told you couldn’t, but perhaps you can…” she tilted her head to his dumbfounded face. “Or maybe you really can’t,” she looked pained and her hands loosened their grip.

He words finally reached his bleeping brain, and he grappled to hold her hands before they slipped away. “Angel,” his voice was too breathy. Too low. Too unreal. But he knew what he had to say. What she wanted to hear. And he had to say it. Now, before that bubble of peace left them.

“Aziraphale,” he began again, taking of his glasses and bringing his forehead to rest on hers. “I don’t know what they told you. But you should know,” he took a deep breath. “That I love you.”

He waited for her to recoil, to pry his hands off her, to say he must be mistaken. She did none of those. Instead he felt too soft lips pressing against his. It was chaste but powerful.

“And I love you, my dear.” She admitted.

“Since when?” he asked, voice cracking, unbelieving but _wanting_.

“Oh,” she chuckled silently, moving in closer and nuzzling his neck. “I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look or the words. I was in the middle before I knew.” She pulled back a little to stare into his eyes and he knew she told no lie. “Perhaps it was on the wall of Eden when you comforted me. It was too long ago.”

“Yeah,” he was not good with words when it came to the angel. “Mine too. Eden, I mean. When you said you gave your sword away.” He grinned. “You were adorable.”

“Oh, stop,” she ducked back to his neck and stayed there. He felt and heard her contented hum.

They didn’t know how but they remembered to return to the party, idling through the garden, arm-in-arm.

“Now what?” the demon couldn’t help but ask as they neared.

“What do you mean, my dear?” Aziraphale squeezed his bicep lightly.

“I know you want to stay proper and all, but to be honest I’d rather not let go of you just yet.” He held her tighter to prove his point.

“We could say you proposed,” she giggled at his stunned face.

“But you said two dates wasn’t enough to warrant marriage,” he shook his head amused.

“But we’ve had thousands upon thousands of dinners, my dear. We’ve out-drank the room's population by the glasses in all forms of alcohol. And we’ve spent more time together than their lifetimes combined,” she claimed sweetly. “And I thought you’d rather not wait any longer,” she pouted, which did Crowley in.

“Alright. We’ll announce our engagement. Say I was wooing you in Scotland and had already asked your brother’s blessing.” He grinned widely. Happiness bubbling unbidden in his chest. “Then I’m taking you away to Satan-knows-where for our honeymoon. Where we could be alone. No more gossips, no more endless parading about in balls.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she kissed his arm. “I think we could spur a few more gossips before we leave. Just think of the chaos it’ll bring mothers and daughters alike.” _Cheeky angel_ , his inner voice supplied, tone thick with fondness.

All he could do was laugh. “Fuck, I love you,” he didn’t even try to hold the words in.

“And I you, dearest,” she said affectionately.

* * *

They were happily on their first year of being married when Aziraphale received a gift from Jane with a note tucked within.

_To my sweet Alyza,_

_You and your gentleman had given me such inspiration that I place much of your story in my very first novel. I sense your delight even as I set ink to this letter. I thank you for sharing your sensibilities with me. Your husband may lead you to foreign lands but this book shall bring you always back to me._

_Yours, with utmost affection,_

_Jane Austen_

The angel ran her hand over the cover of the book, and sent a blessing for its success. She was proud of her friend and she spent the night devouring the story as Crowley slept on beside her in their bed. The next morning, the demon found her eyes puffy and he pounced on her, worry lining his face.

“What happened, angel? Are you hurt?” he asked hurriedly, and she struggled to calm him.

When at last he did, she showed him the novel, “Oh, my dear, it’s nothing. I just finished a story.”

“That’s good then,” he took in a deep breath and began spewing his next words in rapid fire. “IthoughtyoufinallyrealizedyouactuallyhatedmeandthatI’mnotenoughforyou.”

“What?” she frowned at him.

“I said, I thought you were overly disgusted that I drooled all over your shift,” he sidestepped. Sometimes Crowley was still skeptical that she chose him, even after all they've done the last year. She blushed at the memory. But she has years to make him believe.

“Oh, nonsense, my dear. I have become very much accustomed to cleaning the stains from our sofa cushions and beddings for the last year, so this is not new to me.” She tapped his nose playfully, just because she could. “Besides you ought to know by now that I love you too much to let you go ever again,” she added softly before pecking him on the lips.

“Ngk,” went the demon and she smirked. “Be careful what you wish for angel,” he said when he got his words back, trying for nonchalance but missing the mark entirely. “Anyway, that thing new?” he poked the book on the angel’s lap.

“Oh yes, it was in the package Jane sent me. She took us as models for her first novel. Isn’t it sweet?” And she chattered on summarizing the story to him as they lounged in the comfortable warmth of their bed.

“Huh, did she turn me into the heroine?” he asked when Aziraphale finished.

“I’m afraid so my, dear. Well, for the later parts anyway.”

The demon shrugged. “At least I get the man in the end.”

“Oh, hush you…” she giggled then paused, turning to face him fully. She took his hands in hers and with all the love she could imbue into her words, she whispered to her demonic husband, “You’ve always had me, dearest, and always will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed a good distraction from the current goings-on in the world, something that needed less thinking power. I unearthed my cross stitch kit and let myself fall in. But I had fics to write. And here we are.
> 
> Again, thank you for coming along for the ride. This is actually the first multi-chapter I've finished! Yay! (Ugly crying for actually getting through it, then looking at my other WIPs shyly.)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing!

**Author's Note:**

> The POV changes could be a bit of a mess. Sorry about that. XD  
> Comment any inconsistencies you find so I can fix it.
> 
> I gave Crowley 8,000 a year. Mr Darcy had 10,000 and Bingley 4,000. So I thought that must have been enough to have women tittering over him.


End file.
